“Mother.”
CHAPTER XXII.
FOR LIFE.
My mother’s death marked an epoch in my life, for immediately afterwards a great change came over my circumstances and position. Of the dreary days just before and after the funeral I shall here say but little. Their sadness is for me and me alone.
Until after the ceremony I remained at the monastery, seeking relief from my thoughts by rambles over the hills, by watches at dead of night before the spot where, with many candles burning round her open coffin, my mother lay, and by long conversations with Father Alexander, my comforter. When the time of the funeral came, Mr. Ravenor stood by my side, the only other mourner, and I knew that the banks of choice white flowers, which smothered the coffin and perfumed the winter air, were his gift.
After it was all over he came to me where I stood, a little apart, and put his hand upon my shoulder.
“Philip, my boy,” he said kindly, “will you come back to the Castle with me? I am your guardian now, you know.”
I drew a long breath.
“Let me go back to the farm for a week by myself,” I said; “then I will come to you. Be ready to go to Dr. Randall’s.”
“Let it be so, then,” he answered. “Perhaps it is best.”
I said good-bye to the monks, especially to Father Alexander, with regret, for they had all been very good to me. Then I accompanied Mr. Ravenor to his carriage and was driven swiftly homewards.